Posts Tagged ‘ courtesy ’

“…far beneath the bitter snows, lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring becomes the rose…”

I don’t remember a lot of things; usually I cannot help but be clutched by the whittling hands of life.  Sometimes when I sit perfectly still and trick myself into a soft slumber, my dreams swiftly manage to escort me away from my weary life to places where the memories that I can never grasp are born.  In my dreams I may visit a lush though over growing garden, deep in the crevices of May.  The amber sun bores heartily on my back as I explore the garden. I lean over the harlequin grass to move the messy thorns with such care not to harm myself, I spy an object of such beauty that not even the garden’s excitements could not compare. As a larger quantity of thorn-ridden branches fall clumsily to the grass, something amidst the tiny alcove where the thorns were sparkles.

Such an object would be found being sculpted by angels in the depths of heaven; it’s a rose.
 
The rose shimmers as I reach out to caress one of the seemingly everlasting rose petals.  To touch the cerise petal would have the same effect as if you were to stroke a dove’s feather.  I look back to my hands and gander at what they have become; the rose’s angelic magic had gently wafted away from the petals onto my hand.  I could see other beatific glitter which was lightly floating away in the wind to other pastures, much further away, perhaps some with roses that were as blue as an impossible moon emitting a serene ultramarine.
 
Surrounded by thoughtful, tranquil scenes, the depth of my slumber intensified…
 
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Anais Nin Quotes and Writings

“A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked…”

“Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age…”

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom…”

“Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic…”

“Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living…”
 
 
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
 
“How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself…”
 
“I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.”
 
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
 
 
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish it’s source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. “
 
“Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together. “
 
“The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle. “
 
“There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic. “
 
“We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.”     (‘The New Woman’, 1974)

 

Vintage Art

Growing up Southern is a privilege, really.  It’s more than where you’re born, it’s an idea and state of mind that seems imparted at birth.  It’s more than loving fried chicken, sweet tea, football, and country music.  It’s being hospitable, devoted to front porches, magnolias, moon pies, and coca cola with peanuts for dessert.  In the south, the breeze blows softer…neighbors are friendlier, nosier, and more talkative.   Its a different place and a different way of life.  Our way of thinking is different, as are our ways of seeing, laughing, singing, eating, meeting, and parting.  Our walk is different, as the old song goes, our talk and our names.  

  “All I can say is that there’s a sweetness here, a Southern sweetness, that makes sweet music. . . . If I had to tell somebody who had never been to the South, who had never heard of soul music, what it was, I’d just have to tell him that it’s music from the heart, from the pulse, from the innermost feeling. That’s my soul; that’s how I sing. And that’s the South.”  — Al Green